


The Kings and the Aunty

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [14]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Erebor, Jealousy and Suspicion, M/M, Mirkwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:19:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've written some new Thorinduil stories and this is the second of them, following on from The Kings and the Divorce.  Legolas' Aunty comes to stay but she isn't in Mirkwood to socialise but for her own ends.  She is there to cause trouble for Thranduil and Thorin and there seems no escape for them this time.  Will she succeed in putting an end to their relationship?</p><p>There are a few more new stories still to go: the next is The Kings and the Forges.</p><p>Once more, this is a COMPLETE story.  The first in the series is King of the Antlered Throne, but most of my stories can be read individually - although I'm hoping you will read the lot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Aunty

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already guessed, this story is all about more trouble for Thorin and Thranduil; but, this time, it comes from an unexpected source. Elven law is powerful and unbreakable and Legolas' aunt arrives with a legal document that could put an end to a successful marriage. What can be done to save it?

The Kings and the Aunty

 

Pt I

 

A Visit from Aunty

 

It had been two weeks since Thorin and Brangwyn had lost their tempers with their partners so badly that they had sought a divorce – a divorce that had been retracted within 24 hours.  But, not before Thranduil and Young Thorin had caught them both in bed together.  And this rather tangled mess, although superficially smoothed over between the couples, had led them all to feeling rather edgy with each other.

 

Their married life continued as before: passionate nights followed by affectionate and teasing days.  But, when the two kings were separated by Thranduil’s duties back in Mirkwood, the elf had become more than ever reluctant to leave his lover behind and the young prince would watch his wife and the dwarven king together ever more warily.

 

A dreadful cloud of suspicion hung over them, thought Thorin as, unable to sleep, he lay in bed beside his beloved.  And it wasn’t very surprising, really, after Thranduil and the prince had found him and Brangwyn locked in a naked embrace upon the bed of the dwarf woman’s old apartment.  But, they had both been very drunk and it had been merely a comforting cuddle between two very good friends ……..hadn’t it?  Nothing had happened and their partners had nothing to worry about. 

 

But, the reason why the dwarf king now lay awake night after night was because he was trying to stifle a guilty thought: what if they hadn’t been so drunk?  Would they have…done it?  And Thorin had squirmed at the way that they had leapt into bed with each other in order to punish their partners but had been too drunk to achieve their purpose.  Brangwyn had laughed and said it proved that they didn’t lust after each other and both of them had been relieved that their feelings hadn’t been put to the test.  It had been only an innocent cuddle, they told Thranduil and the prince; and the two had chosen to believe them because believing otherwise was just too painful a thought to bear.

 

And now Thranduil would be returning to his duties in Mirkwood in the morning and Thorin wondered how he would get through the time without him.  And so he lay there wide awake until an hour before cock crow, when he finally fell into a rather dazed sleep.

 

He was awoken by Thranduil.  The elven king had pulled the dwarf’s body close to his own and was stroking his hair.  “I need to talk with you before I go,” he whispered, kissing his strong, muscled throat.  Thorin remained silent, dreading what was to come.  “I need to ask you about Brangwyn,” the elf continued, “before I leave you in Erebor with all its opportunities for secret meetings.”

 

Well, they do say that the best form of defence is attack and so Thorin snapped: “And what do you mean by that?  I have already told you everything about that incident the other week.”  And he pushed his lover away from him and turned his back.

 

Thranduil curved into him, a hand snaking around to caress the silken hair on the dwarf’s broad chest.  “I don’t want to upset you….,” he said quietly.

 

“Well, you have,” muttered the dwarf.

 

“….but I honestly think we need to talk about this.”

 

“Why?” replied Thorin.  “I think it’s all been said, don’t you?”

 

“No, I don’t,” was the answer.  “I’m still feeling unhappy and I think you are too…..Aren’t you?”

 

Thorin sighed and turned in Thranduil’s arms.  The elf kissed him tenderly on the lips and held him more tightly against his smooth chest.

 

“It might have been a friendly cuddle,” said Thranduil carefully.  “But, how did you finish up naked?  That’s not what friends usually do.”

 

There was a very long pause, then Thorin replied: “”We both wanted to punish you two and so we stripped off with the worst of intentions.”  His cheeks burned against the elf’s cool skin.  “But, then we found we couldn’t do it.”  Thranduil’s grip tightened.  “Whether that was because we had drunk too much wine or because, deep down, we didn’t want any physical act to happen between us, I just don’t know.”  He paused again.  “Brangwyn and I are inclined to think the latter but we can’t prove it…..either to you or to ourselves.”  Another pause.  “I’m trying to be honest with you because I love you,” he finally said.

 

Somehow, Thorin expected this all to end as it usually did: they would kiss and forgive each other and make mad, passionate love.  But, Thranduil ‘s arms slipped from around him and the elf rose slowly from the bed.

 

“Thank you for telling me this,” was all he said.  Then: “I must get ready to leave for Mirkwood soon.”  And he bathed quickly and got dressed whilst Thorin watched him anxiously from the bed.

 

Soon, he was ready to go.  He approached the bed and kissed the dwarf swiftly and coolly on the forehead.  “The days will be long before I see you once more,” he said in distant tones.  And then he was gone, leaving a rather distressed Thorin to his own uneasy thoughts.

 

.o00o.

 

Two weeks later, Thranduil was seated in his study in Mirkwood, at the end of the period that he and Thorin had intended to spend apart. His desk was strewn with important documents but he was unable to concentrate.  He really missed Thorin and yet the upsetting incident of a month ago still haunted him.

 

Their life together had been one of constant turmoil and arguments – and yet it had been fun.  In a strange way, they had both derived a peculiar pleasure from those rows because the intense bouts of love-making that had inevitably followed on from them had been so downright enjoyable.  And neither of them had doubted that this is how their arguments would end.  But, that last dispute, four weeks ago, had been something else.  Thorin had stormed out and had immediately sought a divorce behind his back.  And then he had climbed into bed with Brangwyn.  Thranduil felt doubly betrayed.  And, for two weeks now, he had been wondering if their relationship would ever work or if things would just stagger from bad to worse.

 

His thoughts were interrupted when a slightly breathless Legolas burst into his room.  Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’m sorry, Ada,” stuttered the young prince, “but I forgot to tell you something.”

 

“Something important?” was the icy question.  Legolas flushed and looked guilty.

 

“Well, umm, not really……not in the grand scheme of things, anyway.  My Noldor aunt wrote when you were in Erebor to say that she was coming on a visit……and it slipped from my mind…….until now.”

 

“And, why until now?”

 

“Umm, because she has just arrived with her retinue.”

 

Thranduil was no more than irritated.  Anaria was his dead wife’s sister and he hadn’t seen her for a very long time.  Nor did he especially want to see her now. But he wondered at her sudden arrival.  She was an opinionated female, one who had disapproved vocally of her sister’s choice of husband as much as Oropher, his father, had disapproved of Thranduil’s choice and she had been quite smug when the marriage had not been a successful one.  “I told you so,” had been Anaria’s constant refrain whenever her sister had paid those frequent visits to her Noldor kin from Thranduil’s Sindar court.  Much bad history lay between the Noldor and the Sindar and Thranduil had been more than happy not to have seen any of his in-laws again after his wife had died.  However, Legolas had spent much time in their company as a child and remembered his aunt with affection.

 

“Well, what are you standing there for?” snapped Thranduil.  “You’d better set about organising the accommodation for everyone.”  And Legolas made a quick exit, relieved that this was his only punishment.

 

An hour later, Anaria swept into his room.  She was beautiful and dark-haired like his wife had been and Thranduil rose gracefully from his chair to guide her politely to a seat and to pour her a glass of wine.

 

“And, to what do we owe this pleasure?” he finally asked her smoothly.

 

“My husband is dead,” she replied baldly.

 

Thranduil looked blank.  And what was this to do with him, he wondered?  But he set about murmuring appropriate phrases of condolence.

 

Anaria brushed his words to one side with an impatient gesture of her hand.  “I suppose you’re wondering what all this has to do with you?” she said.

 

“Just a little,” admitted the king.  And he sat back in his chair and waited to be informed.

 

“Well, the death of my sister – your wife - and now the death of my husband has created a particular situation that seldom happens in our normally immortal community.  But, there is a law to cover it.”

 

“There is?” asked Thranduil mildly and only vaguely curious.

 

“Yes, she continued.  “The law permits – even forces – one surviving spouse to marry the other, if that is the desire of either.”  And she held out a rolled document.

 

Thranduil read the sheet of parchment.  It was an elven court order for a marriage to be arranged between him and Anaria.   “But why would you want to marry me?” he asked, taken aback.  “I don’t believe you even like me?”

 

Her eyes flickered over him: “You are handsome; you are a king; and I lost both position and status when my husband died.  This would be a way of re-establishing myself.  And, although I don’t like you, you are desirable enough to sleep with – occasionally.”

 

“I’m flattered,” said Thranduil with a satirical bow of his head.  “But, tell me, what possible advantage is it for me?”

 

She shrugged.  “Since this is something that I wish then you have no say in the matter.  It is your honourable duty.  However, Mirkwood needs a queen and your son needs a woman’s touch.  I can imagine that there have been difficulties between you and Legolas – two arrogant elves going head to head without a mother’s intervention?  I could improve the relationship between you.”

 

And Thranduil had to admit that she had a point.

 

“And you must miss not having a wife in your bed.”  She raised her glass to her lips and looked at him speculatively over its rim.  “I already miss my husband in that respect.”

 

“Ah,” said Thranduil smoothly.  “But there you would be wrong.”

 

She waved a hand dismissively.  “If you’re talking about that dwarf you supposedly ‘married’ a year ago, then I don’t see that he is of any importance.  From what I’ve heard, you spend a lot of time away from each other.  And, besides, promises made on the altar to Mahal hold no meaning or validity in any elven society.  Your whole relationship is a perverse one and marrying me would give you a good excuse to break off with him.  You know, don’t you, that not a single elf approves of this so-called ‘marriage’?  They despise you for it and casting him off in order to marry me would restore their good opinion of you.”  

 

Thranduil’s knuckles whitened as they gripped the arms of his chair.  “Our marriage is a valid one in every way,” he said through clenched teeth.  “And prevents me from marrying you.”

 

Anaria shrugged again.  She got up and wandered out on the balcony where she studied the setting sun.  Finally, she said: “It was a dwarven ritual, meaningless in Mirkwood.  Our marriage will be an elven ritual.  I have no objection to you indulging in your little bit of corruption whilst you are in Erebor.  So long as you don’t bring him here and shame me.”

 

Thranduil was just thinking of a suitably incisive response that would stop his sister-in-law in her tracks when the door opened and a smiling Thorin walked in.  “I’ve really missed you,” he said, not noticing Anaria out on the balcony.  “And what I really need is a good fuck!”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Bigamy, or What?

 

When Anaria heard the deep melodious voice mouthing its obscenities, she turned back into the room and stared.  Thorin, his arms outstretched towards Thranduil, faltered mid-stride and stared back.

 

This has got to be Thorin Oakenshield, thought the elf woman, and found that she couldn’t stop gaping as she found herself caught up in those startlingly blue eyes.  He was surprisingly good-looking and she could just about grasp why the elven king was attracted to him.  But, surely this was merely a passing fancy and after a few of those ‘good fucks’ that the dwarf was demanding, he could be easily forgotten?

 

“Erm, sorry,” muttered Thorin.  “I thought that Thranduil was alone.”  And, recovering, he gave her a surprisingly graceful bow.

 

“My marriage partner, Thorin Oakenshield,” said Thranduil sharply.  “Thorin, this is my lady Anaria, my dead wife’s sister, come for a brief visit.”  And he emphasised the word ‘brief’.

 

Anaria gave Thorin one of those disdainful elven looks that always made the dwarf king feel very small and inadequate.  “Well,” she said, looking Thorin up and down and giving him a condescending smile, “the brevity of my visit all depends on how quickly my marriage to Thranduil can be arranged.”

 

Thranduil half-rose angrily out of his seat and Thorin’s jaw dropped.

 

“What did you say?” he stuttered.

 

“My husband has just died,” she explained as if to a stupid child, “and the law requires that Thranduil marry me in his stead.”

 

Thorin looked quickly to Thranduil who was beginning to lose his normal composure.  “And what of our marriage?” he asked in disbelief.

 

Anaria stepped between them.  “Your so-called marriage is a dwarven thing and holds no validity in any elven kingdom; and so, he is free to carry out the obligations of our law and marry me.  Whilst he is in Erebor, he can fuck you all he likes – and I have no objections.  But, in Mirkwood, he will be my husband.”

 

Thorin turned wide-eyed and stunned to Thranduil once more and his eyes begged the elf to say that she was talking rubbish.  But, an equally stunned Thranduil could only stare helplessly back at him.  If you love me, Thorin was thinking, then fight for me.  But Thranduil just stood there, totally speechless at the predicament that he found himself in.

 

The dwarf allowed the impasse to last only a moment and then he turned around and marched from the room.  Thranduil let out an anguished cry and made to go after him, but Anaria placed herself between him and the door.  “You are mine,” she announced firmly, “because the law makes it so.”  And Thranduil stood there, as if turned to stone, bound by his commitment to elven law and in a state of utmost confusion.

 

“It is nearly time for dinner,” she said.  “I must go and get myself changed and I would advise you to prepare a speech that you can give this evening announcing our betrothal.”

 

Once she was gone, Thranduil slumped back in his chair.  Before he made any announcement, he needed the help of some of his advisors.  A knock came on the door and Legolas entered cautiously.  “Has she gone?” he asked.  And then, sitting down next to his father, he whistled softly through his teeth.  “She’s a lot more – overwhelming – than I remember,” he grinned.  “What did she want?”

 

“Her husband is dead and she demands that I marry her, according to elven law,” said the king tiredly.  “It would appear she has the right.”  And he threw the court order on the table.

 

“What!” exclaimed Legolas, sitting up.  “But, you’re already married to Thorin!”

 

“Apparently not,” sighed his father.  “The law is on her side.  And, on top of that, she says that not a single elf supports my marriage to Thorin.”

 

The young prince snorted, and, much to Thranduil’s surprise, retorted indignantly:  “Well, I support it.  Anyone can see how much you love each other and how suited you are.  What on earth will Thorin say?”

 

“He’s already said it,” answered Thranduil grimly.  “He interrupted the two of us and Anaria let him know in no uncertain terms that our marriage was over and that she was going to marry me instead.  He walked out.”

 

“Are you surprised, Ada?” gasped Legolas, leaping to his feet.  “Get after him this minute.”

 

“But, what can I say to him?” replied Thranduil despondently.  “I cannot go against the law.”

 

“I don’t care what you say,” snapped the prince, “but don’t you dare leave him on his own.  You must work this out together.”  And, with that, he pushed his father out the door.

 

.o00o.

 

Down in the Dining Hall, an hour later, a haughty Anaria approached Legolas.  “Where is your father?” she asked.

 

“Where do you think?” he replied with a sour grin.

 

She gave him one look and then hurried towards the door, calling one of her ladies to her as she went.  “Set out my riding gown,” he heard her say as she disappeared from the room.  Legolas smiled and sipped from his glass of wine.  In Erebor, he imagined, she would face a lot more opposition than she had met with here.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Erebor Kiss

 

When Thranduil burst into Thorin’s apartment, his silken robe billowing and his long hair flying wildly out behind him, he found Thorin standing quietly at a window, pierced through the rock and stone,  staring out towards the far mountain range and lost in thought.  He didn’t turn at Thranduil’s arrival and the king was obliged to come up behind him and softly call his name.   “Thorin,” he said.  “Beloved.”

 

The dwarf turned and lifted wounded eyes to the elf’s face.  “And am I still?” he asked in stricken tones.

 

Thranduil flinched but reached out and drew his lover gently to his breast.  “Now and always,” he said.

 

Thorin pressed his face to the elf’s throat and Thranduil felt a sudden wetness on his skin.   “It was too good to last, wasn’t it?” muttered Thorin.

 

“It _will_ last,” said Thranduil firmly.

 

The dwarf pushed away from him angrily.  “And so you intend to share yourself between a new wife and an old cast-off?  Surely that will be rather exhausting?  And I’m not quite sure if I want to be your tart, just waiting here in Erebor to satisfy your lusts.”

 

Thranduil reached out to touch him, but Thorin shrugged him off impatiently. Then the elf said with a painful catch to his voice: “It will be a marriage of convenience only.  She will have the status that she so desires and I shall spend as much time as possible here with you in Erebor.”

 

“And what will your courtiers say to that arrangement?” sneered Thorin.  “And I’m not sure that the dwarf lords here in Erebor will stomach such a relationship either.”

 

“My people will do as I tell them!” snapped Thranduil.  “And word will soon spread that I go nowhere near her bed.  This law can only compel me to do so much.”

 

Thorin glared at his lover.  “So you intend to abjure her bed?  But will she abjure yours?  I get a feeling that the lady isn’t into chastity.  And how will you respond, I wonder, when she comes visiting?”

 

Thranduil looked angry.  “Well, shall we just say,” he snarled, “that some of us remain faithful to those we love, whatever the circumstances, unlike……”  And then he paused, knowing that he was about to go too far.

 

Thorin finished his sentence for him: “….unlike those who jump into bed with their best friends at the first provocation,” he said bitterly.  And then he drew in a trembling breath.  “I think we’d better finish with each other now, before too much pain overwhelms us.  I cannot bear the thought of you sleeping with that woman.”

 

 Thranduil bit his lip.  “Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

 

Thorin hung his head miserably:  “I want to,” he replied, “but I don’t know if I can.”

 

Thranduil put his hand gently to Thorin’s cheek and the dwarf turned his face slowly into his palm and kissed it.

 

“I shall speak to my advisors,” said Thranduil firmly.  “There must be a way out of this.”  And then he marched to the door and locked it.  “Come,” he said, holding out his hand to his lover and heading for the bedroom.

 

Thorin gave a wry smile: “Is that always the answer to our problems?”

 

Thranduil laughed softly back.  “Yes,” he said.  “It works quite effectively, in my experience.”

 

.o00o.

 

An hour later, they lay sweating and gasping on the bed.  No, thought Thorin, he could never give this up whether Thranduil got married to that woman or not.  And so, he supposed, at least that decision had been made.  They were both just wondering whether they could manage another bout when they heard an authoritative knocking at the door.  They scrambled out of bed and flung on silken robes, only to find Anaria on the threshold.

 

She pushed past them and then came to an abrupt halt.  “Pagh!” she exclaimed, raising a delicate handkerchief to her nose.  “This place stinks of sex.  You two are disgusting!”

 

Thorin decided not to be intimidated and replied mildly: “Well, we _are_ married and, as I think you have guessed, we enjoy a good fuck whenever we have the chance.  He’s an excellent lover, you know,” he added, turning and smiling at Thranduil.  “Not that you’ll ever have the chance to find out.”

 

Her eyes flashed:  “And perhaps you can tell me what you mean by that?” she snapped.

 

“You can make me marry you,” said the elven king calmly, “but you can’t make me bed you.”

 

Anaria flushed.  “We shall see,” she said with an arrogant toss of her head.  “Back in my Noldor court, I am considered very desirable.”

 

“Perhaps,” smiled Thranduil with a gracious bow, “but not desired by me.  You see my heart’s desire standing before you.  Even your sister could not hold a candle to him were she in this very room.  When you and I are married, we shall sleep in separate rooms……..and I shall always lock my door.”

 

Anaria took up a belligerent stance.  “We shall see about that,” she replied.  “I can imagine that this law that obliges you to marry me also obliges you to consummate our union – as often as I see fit.”

 

She was about to say more, but, at that moment, Brangwyn marched into the room and strode up to the two kings.  “What’s all this?” she demanded, waving a letter under their noses.  “Legolas has just written to say that you are being forced into a marriage with some elf woman.”

 

Thranduil merely nodded towards Anaria and Brangwyn spun on her heel to face her.

 

Anaria looked down contemptuously at the fiery little dwarf woman glaring up at her.   “How dare you interrupt a private conversation?!” she asked haughtily.  “I would advise you to remove yourself immediately from this room.”

 

“Don’t talk to Brangwyn like that,” sighed Thorin.  “She is a princess, married to my heir.  And when she becomes queen, she will be the richest and most powerful woman in Middle-earth.  I wouldn’t antagonise her if I were you.”

 

“I think I’m feeling antagonised already,” snapped Brangwyn.  “Now, tell me, Anaria, what this silly idea of yours is all about.  Thranduil is married already, you know, and you have no right to him.”

 

The elf woman pulled herself together.  “The law gives me a right to him,” she said.  “Nor do dwarven laws or marriage rituals hold any sway in elven territory.  His marriage to Thorin isn’t valid and he _will_ marry me!”

 

Thranduil was beginning to feel like a rag toy, pulled between two scrapping dogs.

 

Brangwyn’s eyes narrowed and she folded her plump arms.  “So, tell me,” she said softly, “does this marriage depend entirely on your choosing?  If you can be persuaded otherwise, the law will not impose any marriage on either of you?”

 

“That’s right,” replied Anaria, with a toss of her dark head.  “But, I’m not quite sure how you mean to persuade me.  Thranduil is a prize I refuse to give up.”

 

Brangwyn gave her a considering look.  She studied her clothing – delicate silks and satins – and she examined her white, long-fingered hands.  And then she looked thoughtfully down at her own strong arms and hands which showed signs of a hard life.  Without saying a word, she walked across the room to a stool which she picked up and placed in front of Anaria.  The other three watched her with a fascinated curiosity. 

 

Then, she climbed onto the stool so that she was staring, face to face, into Anaria’s eyes.  “So,” she said.  “Tell me again that there is nothing I can do to dissuade you from this course.”

 

“Nothing,” replied Anaria firmly.

 

At that, Brangwyn grabbed Anaria by the collar, jerking back the elf’s head and whipping  back her own, and then, in a violent movement, she yanked at her clothing and brought her forward so that her forehead smashed Anaria between the eyes.  The elf woman screamed and staggered backwards, finally collapsing in an untidy heap on the floor where she clutched her head and moaned.  A thick river of blood trickled from her nose.  “You’ve broken it,” she grizzled.

 

Brangwyn descended calmly from her stool.  “Was that persuasive enough?” she asked.  “Or shall I do it again?”

 

Anaria stared in horror at the blood on her fingers and whimpered in pain.  “You’re mad!” she exclaimed.  Then, as the two kings spluttered uncontrollably, she cried: “You’re all mad!”  And then she used a chair to haul herself to her feet and fled from the room.

 

“Oh, Brangwyn!” gasped Thranduil, folding her in his arms.  “That was a bit cruel.”

 

“I’m trying not to laugh,” said Thorin, “but that was so funny.  A perfect Erebor kiss.  Now why didn’t I think of just punching her on the nose?”

 

“Poor Anaria,” giggled Brangwyn, disengaging herself from Thranduil’s embrace.  “She’s probably never been hurt in her life.  I took a chance, just by looking at her, that she wasn’t a warrior but just a lady who lunches, so to speak.  She’s so soft and delicate and the strongest thing about her is that vicious tongue and her arrogant will.  Somehow, I don’t think we shall be seeing her again.”

 

Then it was Thorin’s turn for a hug.  “Oh, Brangwyn,” he sighed.  “You’re always so pragmatic.  What would we do without you?”

 

.o00o.

 

As usual, Thorin penetrated Thranduil slowly and carefully; and, as usual, Thranduil became impatient, pushing hard against the dwarf’s swollen member.  “Come on,” he panted.  “You won’t split me in two, you know.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” grunted Thorin.  But, obligingly, he pushed harder at the tight muscle until it suddenly gave and he plunged into the elf up to the hilt.

 

Thranduil moaned.  “Something that Anaria couldn’t have done for me,” he laughed shakily.  And the two began to move in a satisfying rhythm until they had both reached an explosive conclusion.

 

“All I want,” sighed Thorin sleepily as he snuggled into his lover’s neck, “is to live happily ever after with you; but life seems intent on putting every single obstacle in our way.  Is love always this difficult?”

 

“I don’t know,” murmured Thranduil, “because I’ve never been in love before.  But, we shall face every difficulty as it presents itself and, with the help of our friends, we shall overcome them.”

 

.o00o.

 

Sadly, one friend was already thinking of abandoning them.  Brangwyn had visited Balin that evening to tell him all about Anaria.  She thought that he would be amused but, instead, he had groaned and buried his head in his hands.  “With any luck,” he said, “this won’t involve us in a diplomatic incident.”

 

Now Balin lay in bed thinking of how much he longed to escape from the politicking of Erebor: he was a warrior who had somehow turned into an advisor, a job he didn’t want.   And he listed in his mind each of the party of dwarves who claimed that they were more than willing to come with him and seize back Moria from the Orcs.  Perhaps they would even find the ring of Thror!  He smiled to himself in the dark.  He thought about the excitement involved – just like the Quest all over again – but not as dangerous.  He thought about the great Halls and longed to be there once more.  Just wait until Ori saw them!  That would be something to jot down in his diary!

 

And, on the way, he would visit his friend, Bilbo, so that he could tell him all that had happened since he had left to go home to Bag End: the rebuilding of Dale, the love between Thorin and Thranduil…….all the trouble that this had caused.  Then he would tell him about his intentions to set up a colony in Moria.  Perhaps Bilbo could come and visit him there once they were established…..

 

Tomorrow, he mused sleepily, tomorrow he would tell Thorin all about it.  Then he would set out to fulfil his own particular destiny.

 

.o00o.

 

 

  * _Thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it.  The previous one in the series is The Kings and the Divorce and the next one is The Kings and the Forges.  Hope to see you next week!_



 

 

 

 

 

                                     


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